


Ink and Needle

by SassySnowperson



Series: Mara Jade Stories [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Former Inquisitor Mara Jade, Fusion of Star Wars Legends and Disney Canon, Gen, Needles, Reclaiming Bodily Autonomy, Tattoo-based Worldbuilding, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28203756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassySnowperson/pseuds/SassySnowperson
Summary: The Fourteenth Sister had been a useful tool, and a disposable one. Mara didn't want that for herself anymore.Freedom is just the first step. There is still the question of what Mara should do with all the instincts, habits, and training she carries from the Empire.
Series: Mara Jade Stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2060385
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	Ink and Needle

Mara sat on a bunch of discarded produce crates and watched her fellow prep-chefs with quiet amusement.

Fillon was drunk up to his gills and swaying. His head-tentacles twitched as he lazily proclaimed, "A Sarlacc, fighting a Zillo Beast. Tentacles and shit everywhere. Gonna look awesome. Gonna put it right—" he drew his finger in a wobbly circle around his chest. 

"Noooooo," protested Kieema, a sweet-faced Twi'lek, as she grabbed the bottle of glow-vodka out of Fillon's hands and took a deep swig. "Do it on your back. It'll look way cooler on your back." 

"Nautolan, remember! Tentacles," Fillon reclaimed the bottle and spun dramatically, pointing at the mass of waving head-tentacles that covered his back. He took another swig. 

"That's my _whole point!_ " Kieema proclaimed. She pressed her palms together and wiggled the tips of her fingers between the tentacles on either side of Fillon's spine. "You control them. So when you want to show it off, you just"—Kieema pushed her hands apart, forcing Fillon's head-tentacles to either side—"Ta daaa!" 

"Oh, shit, that would be cool," Fillon muttered. He offered the bottle over to Mara. 

Mara accepted the bottle and took a pull. Out of long habit, she made it look like she had drank more than she did. It was an easy way to make people think she was more incapacitated than she actually was. Not that she needed to, with this crowd. 

Fillon and Kieema and Match and Lakkoi were kitchen crew, through and through. Hard-working, fast-moving, and ready to party with the kitchen leftovers when their shift was done. She had hired on with the kitchen six weeks ago, when the mercenary crew she had caught a ride with stopped here for a break. Mara had wrapped up her contract and found the nearest kitchen that would hire her on. 

It was an odd life, switching between grey-market mercenary work and line work with a kitchen crew. Mara liked the money from being a mercenary better, and the quality of life of kitchen work more. But more than anything, she needed to keep moving. So far the Empire hadn't shown any interest in looking for her, but the longer she stayed in one place, the more likely it was they'd figure out she still existed. 

This group was nicer than most, though, and Mara hoped she'd be able to stay long enough to actually relax and banter with them. They didn't mind her awkwardness and had folded Mara into their crew. Misfits always found a home in the kitchen, it seemed. 

Mara stared at the bottle as she half-listened to the crew's tipsy banter. 

It had been a year since she walked away from the Empire, and she felt like she was still unlearning so much of what they'd taught her. She still drilled like she was in their training regime, still instinctively watched her back, still woke up early, still ate carefully portioned meals. Still held herself apart. 

She was sick of it. It was all Fourteenth Sister, and not who she wanted Mara to be. The Fourteenth Sister hadn't been able to choose her own future. The Fourteenth Sister had been a useful tool, and a disposable one. Mara didn't want that for herself anymore. She wasn't sure what she _did_ want. But not that. 

She found her victories in tiny rebellions against the woman the Empire had crafted her to be. She took second helpings of leftover restaurant desserts. When she woke up early, she rolled over in bed and slept in. 

Mara took a deliberate second pull from the bottle, this time making sure to get a good mouthful. It burned deliciously as she swallowed. 

Hanging out with the kitchen crew was another pushback against all that training. It didn't cost her much to stay for an hour after her shift to listen to the increasingly-ridiculous banter of the increasingly-drunk kitchen crew. They always earned their fun. Today they were fresh off of closing a brutal ten-hour weekend shift, and even Mara felt that loose-limbed relief that came from the end of long, hard work.

Mara passed the bottle down to Matches, a dark-skinned human with a bright smile. "What about you, Jade?" he asked as he took it. "Going to come with us? Fillon needs as many people as possible to hold his hand while he makes the worst decision of his life." 

"Best decision!" Fillon protested. 

Lakkoi, a Togruta with pale green skin, white and blue patterned lekku, and a permanent air of superiority that Mara admired, gave a dubious click of her tongue, "Disagree," she said, "but I'm definitely coming." 

They looked back at Mara expectantly. Mara's instincts screamed that she was already up too late, that it was time to get to ground and sleep. Mara took her instincts by two metaphorical hands, and shoved them into a quiet little box somewhere inside herself. 

"Sure," she said, carefully casual as she shrugged. "I'm in."

* * *

The group was a cliche as they ambled down the street. A diverse bunch of tipsy twenty-somethings, a little too loud as they made their way through the neighborhood. They spilled into the tattoo parlor in a raucous burst. Fillon was the loudest as he excitedly described his inspired tattoo design. 

Mara and Lakkoi shared a dubious eyebrow raise and a small grin. 

It was a full service shop, with everything from the newest in tactile-responsive holo-tats to the vintage ink-and-needle work. Fillon was sensibly going with the standard quick-insert laser job. The holo-tats might have poked through his head-tentacles. 

To Mara's surprise, Matches and Lakkoi went right up to the counter and started chatting with the other artists in the shop. Matches was interested in a metallic gold mirror to a tattoo he already had in silver on one bicep while Lakkoi was interested in discussing lekku-pattern-enhancement work. 

Mara was content to sit back in the corner and watch Kieema and Fillon work together with an artist to sketch out an ever-more-intricate creature battle on one side of the shop, while Lakkoi and Matches more sedately discussed their options on the other. 

"You interested in anything?" One of the artists came over to Mara. She was a Mirialan, who sported a riot of black ink down her bare arms, in addition to her more traditional geometric black face tattoos. 

Mara shook her head. Tattoos were definitely to be avoided. For the sort of work that Mara did, it was important to be a blank slate that the Empire could modify as needed. That meant unblemished skin. Even battle-earned scars were carefully healed over, no visible mark of any old wound. 

Mara closed her right hand over her left forearm instinctively. She had taken her first real injury there, deflecting her target's blade with her forearm, so her strong right hand could drive a knife into his belly. The pain as the blade had ripped into her—It always bothered her that the wound had been healed so cleanly. "Actually…" 

The Mirialan grinned. "Knew it. I'm always good at spottin' folks that have the itch. Name's Daso. This going to be your first?" 

Mara thought about protesting Daso's assumption, but in the end, gave up and nodded. They walked over to the artist's station. Mara explained in halting words, the space she wanted to cover, and stumbled through a description of possible designs. 

"Yeah, yep, we can do that," Daso said, nodding as she drew the design out in quick, confident lines. "What method you thinking?"

"Figured just the quick-insert laser," Mara replied. She had no desire for something flashy or tactile reactive or glowing.

Daso gave a low hum, tipped her head sideways, and gave Mara a long look. Slowly, she said, "I don't say this to most people, but have you considered ink and needle? It's the Mirialan traditional way and I feel like it's…more satisfying. I'm a tactile person, I like to feel it."

"Doesn't it take longer?" Mara asked. She didn't want to be stuck here for hours.

"Takes a little longer, it hurts a little more," Daso affirmed. Mara liked her easy transparency. "But you don't strike me as someone who lacks patience, or can't tolerate pain. This design," Daso gestured, "call it half an hour. I'm fast."

Mara licked her lips, and thought about the bite of the blade into her arm, of her urge to mark it. She _did_ want to feel it.

"Sounds good," Mara said, and enjoyed the grin that Daso gave her in reply.

"Al- _right_. Let's do this!" 

Daso started the process by cleaning before mocking the sketch onto Mara's skin with a stencil. As she worked, Mara could feel the sweat prickle along the back of her neck, and had to fight to keep her muscles from bunching up and lashing out. There were so many things that she shouldn't be doing right now. Shouldn't be marking herself, shouldn't be making herself vulnerable. Shouldn't, shouldn't, shouldn't… 

Mara grit her teeth and let her determination carry her. She didn't need these old rules, old habits. She chose what she did, now.

Once Daso began, the buzz of the needle gun was almost soothing. Mara had expected it to hurt, and it did, just a little, like a scratch. She remembered, when she was young and not quite cured of her impulsiveness, trying to pick up a Tooka cat. The cat took objection. Mara could almost imagine the line of a claw tracing down her arm, in the strange buzz-pressure of the needle. 

Her heart beat faster and faster, and then, like a sudden dam breaking, she shifted into battle readiness. Everything became cold and clear and beautiful as an endorphin fuelled euphoria washed over her. She felt her breath settle and deepen, as she relaxed into that beautiful space she hadn't known was possible outside of battle. 

"There we go," Daso said approvingly, her hand never wavering from her work. "Hell of a rush, isn't it?" 

"You know the feeling?" Mara asked, as the hum of the gun felt more like music, the background strings to the rising orchestra of pleasure and pain. 

"Yeah," Daso answered. "Not everyone gets it. I do. Anyone with a sleeve of hand-inked tats, though, I bet you a thousand credits they know the rush." 

Daso finished soon after that, and left Mara with a bottle of quick-heal gel (a bacta knock-off, but this really wasn't the sort of wound that needed bacta) and instructions to let it sit for ten minutes before peeling the gel off. 

Mara applied the gel, watched it turn opaque and harden, and then looked at the clock, waiting for it to count down. 

"Marrraaaaaa," crowed Fillon, "Badass. You, needles, _badass._ You know when else is badass?" He pivoted quickly, flicking his tentacles to either side in a dramatic flourish to reveal the zillo beast vs sarlacc fight scene. It was gaudy, ostentatious, and, Mara had to admit, pretty cool. Perfectly suited for Fillon.

"Awesome," she said. 

He turned around and beamed at her. "What'd you get?" 

Mara looked at the clock. "Four more minutes." 

While they waited, Lakkoi came over and showed off the subtle shading that made the contrast of her lekku patterns pop, and Matches came over and ran his fingers over his new gold tattoo, the metal shimmering and jumping under his touch. 

The clock hit ten minutes and Mara reached over to pull off the gel and reveal her tattoo, much to the waiting interest of her co-workers. 

"A chef's knife?" Kieema blurted. "Really?" 

The knife was rendered all in outlines, slim handle to tapered edge, the blade covering the area where the scar she hadn't been allowed to keep should have been. It matched the chef's knife carefully stored in her knife roll. She had bought it herself, making sure the weight and balance and handle suited her perfectly. The first blade she had ever bought that hadn't been meant for killing. 

Mara shrugged. "I like knives." 

"Weirdo," Lakkoi said. But she said it with an affectionate laugh, reaching out a hand to help Mara out of the chair. 

They clustered and paid and exited, and Mara begged off from the rest of the group, finally giving in to her desire to go to sleep. As she walked home she kept running her fingers over the shape of the knife. It was in her skin now. It was hers. Her body, her choice, her future. 

She smiled, and walked on. 

**Author's Note:**

> Look at that! Mara, figuring out an independent sense of self. So proud of her.


End file.
